<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A One Time Thing by Novanii</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535844">A One Time Thing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novanii/pseuds/Novanii'>Novanii</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Runner [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Don Callis is a fantastic plot device for prolonging UST, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Set during Dynamite: Dec 9 2020, cursing, kenny actually has a chaperone lmao</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:13:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,711</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novanii/pseuds/Novanii</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Backstage, Adam is sure to tell Kenny that he looks good.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kenny Omega/"Hangman" Adam Page</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Runner [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055381</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A One Time Thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt reply written by my partner.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>Prompt: </b>Callis was a passing familiarity to Adam. He'd been hearing a helluva a lot more this past week. The encounter backstage was inevitable. Adam accepted the handshake. A gesture unfamiliar nowadays to Callis and his protege. Tried to keep his brain on Callis' soliloquy about Adam's 'potential,' and not his eyes on Kenny, draped in white, gold on his shoulder, and expression hidden behind mirrored lenses. Yet, in a rare pause in Don's monologue, Adam blurted-out: "How you feeling man?"</p><p>
  <strong>K. </strong>
</p><p>Backstage, <em>he's avoided</em>. Granted, he also avoids most, if not all, of his coworkers, now, but still. They all think that he’s ‘betrayed the company,’ that he doesn’t ‘deserve’ the championship, and it hurts<em>! </em>He’s their World Champion— who <em>cares</em> if he cheated a little bit. <em>Who cares!</em> Moxley has never played fair, so why should he? The double standards. Why do they all worship Moxley? Moxley <em>assaulted</em> him in his <em>Double or Nothing </em>debut, and yet he’s worshiped as if he were a God. And <em>Omega </em>is the bad one for retaliating after Moxley <em>struck</em> his <em>father?</em> <em>The double standards</em>. He’s grinding his teeth, and Callis must be able to tell because he grabs his jaw and says something about <em>getting him a mouthguard</em>. He shoves away Callis’s hand and swallows the anger that seizes in his throat. He’s not a child. <em>Fuck</em>. He bites his tongue and scratches his nails against the championship, the <em>gold</em>, rightfully his, at his shoulder. His, his, <em>his</em>. He breathes in, and he breathes out, the edge of his lips twitching into something far too terrible to be considered a smile.</p><p>It doesn’t reach his eyes, anyway.</p><p>But maybe it twists into something softer at the sight of his former tag team partner, with his golden curls and, <em> of course</em>, a half-empty whiskey bottle in his hand. Softer but still sick as he walks, <em> too quickly</em>, toward him, scraping against the gold and biting hard at his lower lip. He’s stopped by one of Callis’ hands yanking him back by the shoulder. <b>“</b> Adam Page. Good to see you again, kid. <b>”</b> Callis holds out his hand, and Page accepts the handshake. Omega breathes a laugh, licking his teeth. <em> The Southern politeness</em>. <b>“</b> Can’t say I agree with you going into that six-man tag match, though. <b>”</b> As with most of Callis’s opinions, <em> Omega agrees</em>. A six-man tag match, and teaming with the <em> Dark Order</em>, no less. It’s stupid, and it’s childish, and it makes Omega <em>so fucking angry </em>that his chest <em>aches </em>if he thinks about it for too long. Fuck the Dark Order, fuck Reynolds, <em> doubly </em> fuck Silver, <em> fuck </em> —  <b>“</b>With the Dark Order? A <em> comedy </em>act? Come on, kid, you’re better than that.<b>”</b></p><p><b>“</b>Yeah, uh, it’s— it’s just a ‘one-time’ thing, you know like I said.<b>”</b> Page’s voice is awkward, his fingers gripping at the neck of the whiskey bottle so hard that his knuckles are turning white from the strain. He’s <em> squirming </em> , and Omega bites his lower lip again and smiles, <em> wider </em> when he notices that Page is <em> looking </em> at him. Page sniffs and looks away, back to Callis.</p><p><em> Cute </em>.</p><p><b>“</b>Well, I’ll hold you to that. Because you have something <em> special</em>, Hangman.<b>”</b> Callis reaches for and grasps at one of Page’s shoulders. <b>“</b>I know you were in a tag team with the <em>champ</em>, here— <b>”</b> Callis smiles. Omega disregards the ache in his heart and smiles back, shifting the weight of the championship on his shoulder. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, <em> especially if falsely so</em>. His shoulder hurts, and his heart beats harder against his chest. And <em>still</em>, Callis prattles on and on because he loves the sound of his own voice more than Omega loves the sound of his, and <em> that’s </em> an accomplishment. <b>“</b>—but you need to get your head back into the single’s division. If you keep at it, you might just be in the same league one day.<b>”</b></p><p>Omega works his jaw. <b>“</b>All right, <em> Mister Callis</em>. <b>”</b> He doesn’t want to think about how Page almost pinned him two years ago, but he did. He doesn’t want to think about how Page almost pinned him at <em> Full Gear </em> , but he did. He doesn’t want to think about how Page has gotten <em> closer and closer </em> to winning each time they’ve fought, but he has. He doesn’t want to think about how Page could take his championship, but he could. Omega scrapes one of his shoes against the floor, heart beating harder still. <em> He could</em>. But Page is too preoccupied with fucking around with the Dark Order to take the championship, and Omega’s both angry and relieved at once. Callis, as <em>irritating </em>as he can be, isn’t wrong: <em> Page is wasting his potential</em>.</p><p><b>“</b>Hey, how’re you feeling, by the way?<b>”</b> Page asks abruptly, and Omega smiles, <em> gratified</em>, because he knows who Page is asking, and it <em> isn’t </em> Callis.</p><p>Still, Omega has to interrupt Callis’s question of ‘who are you talking to,’ because Callis is egotistical and, <em> of course</em>, thinks Page is asking <em> him </em> for God <em> knows </em> why. <b>“I'</b>m feeling good!<b>”</b> He says, smiling and <em> giggling </em> almost innocently, “I mean, we came in on a <em> helicopter</em>. Isn’t that so cool? <b>”</b></p><p><b>“</b>Yeah, <em> uh</em>, yeah, it was— it was pretty cool, yeah.<b>”</b> Page’s voice hesitated because he <em> apparently </em> thinks that it wasn’t <em> that </em> cool, but Omega decides to ‘let that slide.’ He was probably too young to remember when Lex Luger did it, anyway, so he just doesn’t get it.</p><p>What Omega does <em>not  </em>'let slide,’ however, is Callis’s sighing and checking on his wristwatch. “Oh, I guess you have something else to do? <b>”</b></p><p><b>“</b>What I gotta do, <em> Kenny, </em>is get your ass back to Nashville— <b>”</b></p><p><b>“</b>Well, <em> whatever</em>. I’m not ready to go yet, but <em>you </em>can go get things ready. Be my guest! I’ll meet you in the parking lot later.<b>”</b> Omega waves his hand dismissively, <em> shooing</em>, at Callis’s bristling. <b>“</b>Well, go on! <b>”</b></p><p>Callis, still, gawks for a moment, jaw clenched in an anger that Omega <em> knows </em> he can’t afford to show, much less to the man that Omega, <em> evidently</em>, still has wrapped around his finger. <b>“</b><em>Well</em>, you better hurry up,<b>”</b> Callis stammers, flustered, <b>“</b>we have places to <em>be</em>, kid, and we shouldn’t keep the people <em>waiting</em>. <b>”</b> But he— reluctantly,   hand twisting at his wristwatch, because he can’t <em>believe </em>that Omega would have the audacity to tell him what to do— does as he’s told and walks away.</p><p>And finally, they’re alone.</p><p>But Page, with those <em>doe eyes </em>of his, is looking at him pitifully, and <em>that </em>is a ‘mood killer’ if Omega has ever seen one. <b>“</b>Everything all right?<b>”</b>  </p><p>And Omega’s heartaches annoyingly. <b>“</b>He’s just mad that I didn’t let him talk as much as he wanted.<b>”</b> He waves his hand again. <b>“</b> It’s fine. Seriously. But I appreciate your, uh, <em> concern</em>.<b>”</b> Softer, now, to be more <em>appealing</em>. <b>“</b>Thanks. <b>”</b></p><p><b>“</b>Well, <em> all right</em>, I guess.<b>”</b></p><p>The silence that ensues is <em>definitely </em>awkward, and Omega worries that he’s ruined the moment, whatever the <em> ‘moment’ </em> was, with his and Callis’s arguing— until Page’s Southern drawl cuts through the tension, <b>“</b>You know,<b>”</b>  Page shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and Omega watches as he, slowly and deliberately, looks him up and down. Knowing Page, the once over means nothing. <b>“</b>You look good.<b>”</b></p><p><em> Oh</em>.</p><p>Omega smiles, almost roguish but the flush at his cheekbones is too sincere for him to appear as anything but <em> embarrassed </em> by the flattery. <b>“</b>Yeah?<b>”</b> He closes the distance between himself and Page, and he grabs for the front of his belt. He told himself that he’d stay away, but he’s always had a weak spot for a Southern drawl and green eyes softer than any he’s ever seen. <em> And flattery</em>. With his head tilted back and his smile <em>finally </em>coquettish, he looks at Page, at his mouth, at his unbuttoned collar, at his belt buckle. "Mm, you always look good, cowboy.<b>” </b> Page breathes in roughly and grasps at his wrist, and all Omega is able to do is laugh squeakily, because what is Page going to do about it? Breathe hard and look at him like he’s going to do something but then doesn’t because he’s, what, a Southern gentleman, or something? <em> Sweet</em>, in theory. In practice? <em> Annoying</em>.</p><p>As quickly as the distance had been closed, Omega reestablishes it, taking one, two, three steps backward with his fingertips lingering at Page’s belt until it was no longer in reach for the ‘good measure’ of appearing flirtatious. <b>“</b><em>Well</em>, good luck with dumb and dumber next week.<b>”</b> He could be more scathing. He could yell at Page for wanting so <em>badly</em> to leave the Elite that he cost Matt and Nick a tag team championship opportunity, only to then befriend a <em>cult </em>and agree to <em>team</em> with two of them. He <em>could</em>. But he bites his tongue. <b>“</b>Silver is, uh, <em>really</em> annoying, though, but whatever. I guess you don’t think so.<b>”</b> <em>Mostly</em>.</p><p><b>“</b>I mean, he’s—<b>”</b></p><p><b>“</b>I don’t care! I don’t wanna talk about <em>him</em>.<b>”</b> He licks his lower lip. <b>“</b> I wanna talk about <em>you</em>.<b>” </b>  He smiles at Page’s sigh— whether it be a sigh of exasperation, or whether it be a sigh of endearment, he couldn’t care less— of his name, <em> ‘Kenny’ </em> in his Southern drawl, but doesn’t allow him to complete the thought. <b>“</b><em>But </em> I really gotta go, or Callis is <em> really </em>gonna be mad at me.<b>”</b> <em> ‘Leave him wanting more,’ </em> or something like that. He really <em>does </em>have to leave, or else Callis really <em>will </em>be angry with him. There’s nothing else he can say to Page, anyway, without risking spilling his guts. He takes a few more steps backward before turning around entirely.</p><p><b>“</b><em>Kenny</em>.<b>”</b></p><p>He looks over his shoulder, at <em>green eyes softer than any he’s ever seen</em>, and he’s grateful for his sunglasses, for the state of being <em>unknown</em> that they provide him<em>; </em>yet he still feels like Page is staring into his very soul. He looks away. <b>“</b>Look, we can talk again later.<b>”</b> Even he doesn’t know if he’s lying or not. Maybe they’ll talk. Maybe he’ll tell him everything, how he’s gone crazy and this time he really may never come back. Maybe they’ll talk. <b>“</b>But I really, <em>really</em> gotta go now, okay?<b>”</b> He doesn’t have to. He really doesn’t have to.</p><p>But he does.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>